


It Should Be Raining (But the Cloud Is Gone)

by Lumeleo



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22112347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeleo/pseuds/Lumeleo
Summary: Squalo is furious Kyouya. The bastard can't even bother to be around to hear his complaints.
Relationships: Dino/Hibari Kyouya/Superbi Squalo, Dino/Superbi Squalo
Kudos: 13





	It Should Be Raining (But the Cloud Is Gone)

The weather is as warm as any summer evening in Italy, yet Squalo feels a chill even through his thick leather coat as he walks through the large iron gate.

He blames the breeze that is blowing through the cemetery, throwing strands of his hair about. Certainly there is no other reason that could be causing this sensation, nothing in the rows of old stone and worn paths that would make him feel cold. It must be the breeze, grabbing the hem of his coat and carrying the scent of flowers. At least it makes it easy for him to find the fresh grave, as though he could have missed it.

The memorial is downright ostentatious, far too opulent to fit its inhabitant. He can’t imagine Kyouya liking the multitude of flowers and wreaths, the ribbons and candles. However, Kyouya made it clear years ago that he doesn’t care what they do after he is gone. Funerals are for the living, he had said with a lazy smirk, then muffled Dino’s protests with a hungry kiss to redirect the conversation. Apparently Dino had remembered those words, and chosen to take them to heart. Not that Squalo would know, not the details, anyway. He hasn’t been back until now, too busy chasing his prey.

The cemetery is quiet, nothing but silence and the wind keeping him company. He comes to a halt in front of the gravestone, eyes tracing the words carved into the stone. Dino had at least included Kyouya’s name in Japanese, not just in the Roman alphabet. Good. Squalo is too tired to try to figure out the correct kanji, never mind trying to make neat script with his sword.

“You are a fucking idiot,” he mutters, sitting down on the ground in front of the grave. “I hope you weren’t expecting flowers, because like fuck am I going to bring you any. They’ll just be trash sooner or later.”

Squalo worms a hand into his pocket, finding the small object rolling around deep inside. Drawing it out, he turns it around at his fingertips. The ring is an ugly thing, would be so even if it wasn’t covered in blood. He tosses the ring among the flowers and other decorations piled at the grave. It’s a woefully small offering, but it’s all he has.

“They’re dead.” He looks down at his hands, turns them around. He’ll have to replace the gloves; there’s no way he can get the blood out. “Every last one of them. You were off to a good start, but you know how rats are. There are always more.” He chuckles, a broken little sound. “Would’ve brought you the don’s head, but figured you’d just accuse me of being filthy. So, his ring will have to do.”

Squalo reaches for one of the bottles he brought with him, opens it and takes a large swig. It’s strong stuff, but he needs strong right now.

By the time he’s halfway through the bottle he’s cursing Kyouya, muttering swears in a mix of languages. His words might be a little slurred but it’s not like anyone’s here to call him out.

“You probably did this on purpose, you fucking coward,” he murmurs. “Too selfish to deal with being left behind. You always were selfish like that. Always fucking breaking Dino’s stupid sensitive heart.” Not that he is blameless in that, himself. Even so, he still has a chance of making up for his mistakes. Kyouya is beyond that. “…I hate you. Come back.”

Kyouya does not answer, does not stir, the ridiculous heap of flowers unmoving before him. They should have just brought bird seed, Squalo finds himself thinking, his brain following the slightly surreal path of drunken logic. Kyouya would have loved to have his grave covered with birds. But funerals are for the living, Kyouya said so himself, and if this is what Dino needs to feel less broken, that’s fine.

If blood and pain and burned ground are what Squalo needs, surely that’s fine, too.

He’s drunk when Dino finds him, hours later, drunk and cold and aching worse than when he had his literal heart ripped out of his chest. He’s long since run out of words, has exhausted even his rather remarkable vocabulary of swearwords and insults, but Dino doesn’t ask him to say anything. Dino doesn’t ask a thing, just offers him a hand, and Squalo might grip his hand a bit tighter than necessary but they can both blame that on the alcohol.

It’s cold as they leave the cemetery, the scent of flowers making him nauseous, and somewhere far overhead he can hear a bird singing, distant but never gone.


End file.
